


Stars

by tommyparkerr



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dark Thoughts, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hallucinations, He’s just scared and alone, Panic Attacks, Partially Endgame compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter doesn’t actually want to die, Peter is struggling, So he calls the only person he can, Suicidal thoughts (brief), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, aka Morgan exists b/c she’s too adorable not to include, no beta we die like men, rip uncle ben
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21628108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommyparkerr/pseuds/tommyparkerr
Summary: It’s been seven years since Ben Parker was murdered. It seems as though everyone’s made their peace with it by now—moved forward. But not Peter. Because for Peter, it hasn’t been seven years since he was mercilessly forced to watch death claim his last blood relative right in front of him.For Peter, it’s only been two.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 176





	Stars

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This may be triggering for some of you. I encourage you to PLEASE read the tags before you continue reading! The last thing I want to do is hurt anyone, so even if you’re not sure either read the tags or message me with questions! I check my email like 3000 times a day, so I should answer back pretty quickly. Also, if you believe I need to add something that is not currently tagged, let me know so I can fix the problem! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! I know it’s pretty long for a one-shot, but I couldn’t find a good place to split it in half so you’ll just have to read it in spurts if you’re on a time crunch!

_My fault._

Peter honestly wasn’t sure how he got here... wherever here was. 

He was on some rooftop in New York (he had no idea if he was in Queens or not), laying on the hard cement and letting the cold set deep into his bones. He could’ve used the built-in heater in his suit he supposed, but he preferred it this way. His entire body was numb, the only feeling he could even slightly register being the consistent ache that spread through every single one of his bones. It could’ve been from the cold, the excessive swinging, or it could’ve been from further inside him where his compressed emotions pounded against the walls of his mind. He didn’t know. He didn’t care. 

_My fault._

“Peter, you have not participated in any crime-fighting activity while out on patrol. I will have to inform Mr. Stark if this continues,” his AI spoke, startling Peter. A flare of annoyance rushed through him. 

“What, can I not have a peaceful night out without something being wrong with me?” Peter snapped. “Let me guess: the ‘Microchip’ protocol? Wait—no, that’s not witty enough. It’s the ‘Tummy Time’ protocol, right?”

Karen was silent for a moment. “It’s been three hours since you left your apartment, Peter,” she answered quietly. “It is nearing two o’clock in the morning, which is when I’m forced to alert Mr. Stark. Your curfew passed twenty minutes ago.”

Peter humorlessly snorted. “Two o’clock. Time flies by when you’re having fun, doesn’t it, Karen?” Then quieter, he mumbled, “A curfew on a Friday night, what a load of bull-“

Before he could finish, Karen interrupted with, “Are you all right, Peter?”

“Peachy keen.”

“Peter-“

“Look, Karen, I appreciate the concern but I’m not really in the mood to talk right now, okay?” he said, his voice taut. 

“Okay, Peter.” A pause. “It will take approximately thirty-two minutes to reach home if you leave now. Would you like me to draw a route to destination?”

_Just how far did he swing?_

“No thanks, Karen,” he said, barely paying attention to his words as what little emotion had just risen up in him snuck back into its hidey-hole again, leaving him with the same numbness as before. “I’m not going home.”

The AI didn’t seem to process this at first. Then, after a little time, said, “I’m confused, Peter. You know that I will have to contact Mr. Stark if you aren’t on the trajectory to your apartment in T-minus six minutes?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Peter mumbled, shutting his eyes. “Go ahead, Karen. Call him. But I’m still not going home.”

Karen paused for half a second too long; Peter knew she was currently connecting to the man’s phone despite him still having six minutes left of his grace period. Though, Peter _did_ technically just tell her to call Tony so he couldn’t exactly blame her. 

Before anything could go through Peter ripped his mask off and let it hang at his side, and then he was left only with the sound of the city. He’d found a while ago that as long as he didn’t have his mask on, Karen couldn’t follow through on protocols that included such things as contacting Mr. Stark. He doubted Mr. Stark worried about building his AI to be fully functional in the rest of his suit since Peter would rather be caught dead than without his mask on while he was out and about, but on nights like these…

He couldn’t see the stars very well. It was either really cloudy or really polluted, and considering he was further into the city than he’d been in months, it was probably the latter. But he still looked at them, trained his eyes to seek out the tiny flickers of silver light from behind the polluted air. Peter found himself wondering how they always shone so brightly despite the smog threatening to snuff them out. He knew _he_ could never shine that brightly—not when the smog had already swallowed him whole. 

_My fault._

Time passed. Peter wasn’t sure how much time, but then again it didn’t really matter. May wouldn’t know he was out since she was working the graveyard shift at the hospital, and Mr. Stark wouldn’t know either according to Peter’s previous calculations. The problem arose when Peter had to put the mask back _on_ , but if he waited long enough it would be morning, and then he could probably convince the man that he’d gotten an early start. As long as he didn’t look back on the footage, at least. 

_It’d be pretty uneventful if he did,_ Peter mused to himself. It would just be thirty minutes of swinging followed by many hours of the same exact view. With a small bit of amusement, Peter imagined the billionaire frantically scrambling through code to see if his tech had momentarily broken or if Peter and Ned had somehow managed to hack into it again despite the extra firewalls he added. How surprised he would be when he saw that the code was still perfect and untampered; how confused he would be when he realized that the same consecutive hours of footage were _real._

His right hand was heavy with the extra weight he’d slipped onto it right before he’d left his and May’s apartment. The smooth metal was cold as it sat on Peter’s finger, burning him with its touch. It was too big for him, yet it seemed to cling to him like a leech. 

Peter carefully slipped his glove off to stare at the silver ring, now gleaming from the surrounding street lights. It had still been on May’s dresser, sitting next to her ring as if they were both still in use. But when morning came, only one ring was ever taken off of that dresser and worn. The other ring sat untouched as it had for two ( _seven_ ) years now, lonely and incomplete until night came and its counterpart was placed next to it. But then morning came too soon, and the process started all over. 

He understood how the ring felt; lately he’d been feeling alone, too. The daytime was the worst because that meant it was reality, and his reality was that he only had one living relative left to love and care for him from this point on. The nights were when the alternate realities came, when Peter could dream of a life where Ben was still trying to offer assistance to Peter on his AP chemistry assignment so he didn’t feel so useless when it came to helping his nephew through high school—where Peter pretended to be confused and act like he understood it after Ben tried to help just to see the smile on his uncle’s face and the shine in his eyes. 

But nights were also when the alternate realities turned into nightmares—nightmares that would yank Peter from his sleep and force him to spend every waking second dreading the minute his alarm would go off and he’d have to roll out of bed pretending to be okay again. 

_My fault._

Peter’s eyes were heavy, yet he didn’t feel tired; in fact, he’d never been more awake. If he fell asleep tonight there would be no dreams, only nightmares, and Peter didn’t quite have the energy to fight them off for the third week in a row. 

Distantly, as if he were an outsider looking in, he realized he’d started shivering at some point. It probably wasn’t good considering he couldn’t thermoregulate, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about when he would finally be warm again. 

Maybe never. 

_My fault._

Eventually, the night got so dark that Peter couldn’t see the stars anymore and looking for their light was simply too exhausting and useless to continue doing so. He rolled over on his side and stood, finally taking in his surroundings. If he could figure out his location without Karen’s help then he wouldn’t have to put his mask back on _ever_ —only enough to cover the identifiable parts of his face. As long as he didn’t have it on completely, the AI wasn’t activated. 

His legs were stiff from staying in one position for so long, so he tripped slightly walking to the edge of the roof. He pulled his mask on partway as he reached the edge just in case anyone was out at this time of night and decided to look up. 

As Peter looked down, his head got light as a feather and he began to laugh; he laughed, and he laughed, and he _laughed_ , and it wasn’t an appropriate or healthy response to what he was looking at, but it was all he could do. Tears started streaming down his cheeks and he stumbled, almost falling over the edge. He caught himself at last second and jerked back, landing half on his side and half on his butt. 

_My fault._

But even if it was his fault, he didn’t _want_ to die.He’d gotten past that point a little while ago, and he didn’t want to go back. 

It’d be a little poetic, though, if this was where it all ended. _When_ it all ended. He had to admit that it’d be perfect, in a way. And May wouldn’t be there to watch him like he had to watch Ben, so it wouldn’t really hurt anyone, would it? No web-shooters, no resistance, just...free falling. 

Peter’s breath caught in his throat and the laughs stopped, and his eyes still were producing tears at a frantic rate but not for the reason they were before. 

He hadn’t had a thought like that in over a year now. 

With shaking hands and panicked breaths, he quickly yanked his mask back on—fully this time.

Karen didn’t take even half a second to activate, but to Peter, it felt like an hour. “Peter, I have to-“

“Please call him,” Peter begged. “Call him.”

“Your heart rate seems to be elevated-“

“Just call him already, Karen!” Peter snapped, though it didn’t sound so much harsh as it did desperate. He felt a terrified cry crawling up in his chest. “Please,” he whispered, nearing his breaking point and knowing that he didn’t want to be alone when that happened—even if it was slightly embarrassing that Mr. Stark was the only one he could call on now. 

Who knew if he’d even come, though? Sure, they’d gotten closer since after Peter came back from the dust and Tony almost died not thirty minutes after whilst saving the universe ( _again_ ), but the man had his own family now—his own priorities—and Peter had had to accept a while ago that he wasn’t at the top of that list anymore. Maybe he never was.

Peter would understand why, of course, if the only reason Mr. Stark was keeping him around was because of his responsibility regarding Spider-Man. He’d understand if Mr. Stark hung up as soon as he found out Peter wasn’t bleeding out or facing imminent death in an alley somewhere. 

_Maybe it would be better if I was._

Peter must have been so deep inside his mind that he hadn’t heard the ringing that signified Karen was, indeed, calling Mr. Stark, because when he let out a pitiful sob there was another voice besides his. 

“-you at, Peter? Talk to me, buddy, what’s wrong?” Then, when Peter didn’t answer straight away, “FRIDAY, connect to Karen and run a full body scan; I need to know what I’m getting into here.”

Peter’s lip wobbled as he tried to form words past the shallow breaths his lungs were taking. “It hurts so much, Mr. Stark, and I-I don’t know what to do,” he brokenly said, his voice a wreck. 

“Are you bleeding?” A surprising string of curses escaped the man’s mouth. “Peter— _Peter_ , if you’re bleeding, put pressure on it _right_ _now_. I know it hurts, bud, but I’m on my way and I need you to do that for me. Can you tell me where you’re at?” Peter stayed quiet this time, letting his eyes shut as tears continued to soak his mask. 

Running. Shouting. A gunshot. Screaming. Blood. More blood. _So much blood._

_My fault._

“Kid, I’m having FRIDAY track your location but she’s also scanning you right now so it would make this so much easier on the both of us if you just told me where you’re at. You hear me?” Peter nodded despite knowing the man couldn’t see. Frantically, Mr. Stark spoke again. “Peter, keep your eyes open, okay? Say something— _anything._ Please.”

Peter opened his eyes not because he was dying from the type of wound that Mr. Stark was obviously imagining, but because he was afraid if he didn’t then his mind would take complete control and by the time he’d open his eyes again it’d be too late and he really _would_ be lying dead in an alley somewhere—specifically the alley his uncle died in exactly two years ago...two hours ago. 

_You killed your uncle here,_ Peter’s mind hissed. _Shouldn’t you be dead, too?_

“Help,” Peter whispered so quiet he wasn’t sure if Mr. Stark heard him. He wanted to tell him exactly where he was and that he wasn’t physically injured, but he didn’t have enough energy nor enough words. So _‘Help’_ would have to do; _‘Help’_ had to be enough, because he didn’t have anything left in him but that one-syllable plea. 

Faintly Peter could hear the background sound of blasters and knew it’d only be a matter of time before Iron Man found him. 

“I’m on my way, Pete,” he said softly yet determined. “Stay with me, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter whispered back, then fell silent. Mr. Stark was still trying to talk to him but Peter wasn’t comprehending any of it. His head was too loud, the blood pumping through his ears almost too much to take as it was. But adding trying to concentrate on Mr. Stark and what he was saying to block out his own head would push him into sensory overload faster than it would take him to plummet to the alley below. 

Peter violently shook his head at the morbid thought, trying to reset his mind somehow. He didn’t understand how this suddenly came on so strong when he hadn’t had a problem with it in a year and ninety-two days. He’d been doing _so good._

But it hadn’t just been ninety-two days, had it? It had been three hundred sixty-five times five _plus_ ninety-two. Because he’d been dusted for three hundred sixty-five times five days while the world continued on. Three hundred sixty-five times five days longer Aunt May had to accept what had happened to Ben, and somewhere in the process of mourning her nephew’s murder, she’d made peace with her husband’s.

But Peter hadn’t. Peter didn’t know if he ever would, because Peter had killed Ben. It had been _his_ fault. 

_My fault. My fault. My fault._

Peter honestly didn’t know how or when he’d ventured to the edge of the roof again, but he was looking at the same place he was just a little bit ago—the same place he was begging his uncle to wake up whilst sitting in a pool of blood two years ago. Except this time, it didn’t make him want to laugh; this time it made him tip forward _just_ enough to test the waters. He leaned a little more to get a better view, and then a little more. He could practically _see_ his uncle at this point, down in the alley smiling and waving and gesturing for Peter to come down. 

And the scary part was, he almost did. _Almost._

An unexpected breeze came and pushed Peter further forward, and he was able to stumble back just enough to avoid falling. He gave a delayed shriek when he heard a gunshot ring through his ears, and when he looked down Ben was no longer smiling and waving. He was dying all over again, blood seeping like a river from his wound, and Peter had done _nothing_ to stop it. If he would have just _gone down_ —

Unable to breathe and absolutely terrified, Peter did the only thing he could think to do.

With jumbled, uncoordinated movements, Peter grabbed the vials of web dissolver and threw them across the roof so they were out of reach, took a few steps backward, fell onto solid ground, and shot at his own hand with his web-shooters. He webbed his wrist and the lower part of his forearm as well, and then he webbed himself again and again and again until he was sure he couldn’t rip himself out, then again and again and again _and_ _again_ only to drown out the voice in his head. 

Peter was sobbing; he didn’t know when he’d started or if he’d always been. Either way, it didn’t matter because now he could see a flying suit in the distance and if he could see it then he didn’t have to worry about falling off the roof anymore. 

Not even thirty seconds later Tony Stark landed in front of him and lifted his faceplate. 

“Breathe, Peter,” was the first thing he said, and his suit quickly melted away as he placed his hand over Peter’s heart and pressed firmly enough that he could feel it. “Breathe. I need you to _breathe._ I’ve got you, okay? You’re safe now, Underoos. I’ve got you.”

“I-I _can’t,_ ” Peter said in realization between cries.

“Yes, you can,” Mr. Stark vehemently argued. “Breathe with me, okay? I’m going to put your hand on my heart just how I’m putting my hand on yours, and I want you to breathe when I breathe. You got that?"

Peter could do nothing but nod. When the billionaire reached for his left hand and was met with nothing but web, he was (rightfully) confused but did a pretty job of hiding it as he smoothly moved to grab Peter’s right hand instead; and, sure, the ring confused him too, but it probably raised fewer questions than his web-covered hand. 

Slowly Peter was able to match his breathing to Tony’s. _Very_ slowly. And when oxygen finally was pumping back through his body and to his brain, the fog and the dizziness faded away, leaving Peter with his own alarming realization. 

_I called Iron Man because I was_ crying. 

_Iron Man thinks I’m weak._

_Mr. Stark thinks I’m weak._

Peter swallowed and his guard immediately went up. He jerked his hand away from his mentor’s chest and wiped his face clean of tears before clenching it into a fist and looking away. 

“Woah, bud, what’s up?” the man asked, taken aback by his sudden mood swing, then added, “You can’t put me through a heart attack at almost four in the morning and then act like it’s nothing, Pete.” Peter just shook his head, angry at himself for bothering Mr. Stark over something as trivial as a few tears and some scary thoughts. He could have handled it himself—he _should_ have handled it himself. Everyone had scary thoughts every once in a while, and everybody cried sometimes; it was just a way of life, and here Peter was making a much bigger deal out of the situation than it really was. 

Between being kidnapped and tortured in a desert cave by terrorists, flying a nuclear bomb into space without knowing if he’d ever come back, having the friends he trusted most turn their backs on him when he needed them, almost dying countless times, watching the ones he loved die (including Peter), and fully expecting to have to sacrifice his own life for the sake of the universe regardless of the fact that he had a wife and daughter, Tony had been through a lot. Compared to Peter...well, what Peter had to face was nothing compared to what his mentor had gone through. _Nothing._

At least Peter had had a father-figure who loved him. 

Mr. Stark’s hand landed on Peter’s shoulder and he flinched away, shrinking into himself. He didn’t have to look at the man to see how hurt he was by the action, which only made Peter feel more guilty for calling him in the first place. 

“Pete...are you okay?”

This time Peter nodded. “Yeah, I’m-I’m fine.”

He sighed. “You don’t seem very fine,” he said, his voice soft and slightly probing. Peter regretted webbing his hand to the roof now; he wanted nothing more than to just swing away. But, knowing Mr. Stark, he’d probably just fly after him. Peter couldn’t leave the conversation, but maybe he could get Tony to. 

It was worth a shot. 

“Look, Mr. Stark, I’m okay. Really, _really_ okay. I just...go away. Please, just-just go away,” Peter said, trying to hide the wobble in his voice at the thought of being left alone again. He’d already come to the conclusion that he was being a baby, though, so he forced himself to suck it up and push the lump in his throat back down to his stomach. 

Peter wasn’t sure whether to be angry or immensely grateful that Tony didn’t fall for his bullshit. 

Probably the latter. 

Mr. Stark moved closer to Peter, dropping to his knees beside him and slowly putting his hand on his shoulder. Peter didn’t flinch this time. 

“Peter…” He sighed again, bowing his head as if ashamed. This caught Peter’s attention and caused him to finally look at the man. “I know...I know I’m probably the _least_ qualified person in the entire universe to be doing this and that I’m probably not the person you want to talk to about whatever’s going on inside your head, but I can’t leave you like this, bud. So please talk to me—if only for my own sanity.”

Peter’s bottom lip trembled. “I don’t…I don’t…” Mr. Stark squeezed his shoulder, and that was all it took for him to collapse into Tony’s side and let the tears start running again. “I’m so sorry,” he nearly whispered. “I didn’t want to bother you, but I-I was just so _scared_ -“

Mr. Stark frowned, wrapping a protective arm around him. “Scared of what, buddy?”

Peter wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. _My own head?_ Instead, he waited until his tears were no longer vocal and quietly said, “You know my uncle Ben was murdered two years ago today?”

_My fault._

Fingers combed through his hair. “Yeah?” was all Mr. Stark said. 

“Yeah,” Peter answered, even though he knew Mr. Stark wasn’t looking for one. “Right down there,” Peter said, pointing to the edge of the roof where the dreaded alley was sitting beneath. “I watched him die down there exactly two years ago. And...and everyone’s already moved on because it’s been seven years but for me it’s only been two, and I still remember what he looked like and how he smelled and how his hands were always so calloused but May doesn’t anymore, and sometimes I just feel like...like I don’t belong, you know?” 

Peter took a shaky breath, curling his fingers into the man’s jacket. Mr. Stark didn’t seem too intent on speaking until Peter was completely finished, which Peter was thankful for. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to finish if he was interrupted. 

“And-and I was standing on the edge of the roof earlier”—Mr. Stark’s arm tightened around him, obviously anxious about where the sentence was going—“and I was thinking about how easy it would be to just... _fall_. And-and I swear I saw Uncle Ben for a second, smiling and waving at me from down there, but then there was a breeze and I heard a gunshot and then he was dying all over again, and he was bleeding _so much_ , Mr. Stark, and I didn’t save him. I-I didn’t do _anything_ -“

“Please stop, kid,” Mr. Stark said, his voice full of tears. It wasn’t until Peter looked that he saw Mr. Stark had started to cry sometime during Peter’s confession, which only made him feel worse. 

“I’m sorry-“

“ _Don’t,_ ” he said, moving his hands to cup Peter’s face and force him to look him in the eye. Peter’s vision was watery, but he could still see the sternness in his mentor’s brown eyes. “Don’t you _ever_ apologize for this, do you understand, Peter?”

His lip wobbled as he tried to keep it together and notfeel like he was being scolded. “But I made you upset-“

“I said, do you understand?” he repeated, staring Peter down. Peter felt like he was staring right through him, like he could somehow see what laid behind his eyes, and so he had no choice but to nod. “Good.” Silence, a sigh, and a shake of his head later, Mr. Stark said in what sounded like pain, “ _Shit_ , Peter, is that why you webbed your hand?”

Peter debated replying to that but knew regardless of whether he did or didn’t Mr. Stark would still know the answer. “I...I don’t want to die, Mr. Stark,” he whispered. “I really don’t. It was just...I was just _there_ and my head was saying all these things and it was so loud and I just wanted it to _shut up_ -“

“ _Kid-_ “

“-and then a gust of wind came and almost knocked me over and I got back in time but I was _so scared_ , and so I did the only thing that seemed logical at the time and, yeah—I webbed my hand to the roof and I threw my dissolving fluid behind me somewhere so there was no way I’d open my eyes and be back on the edge again and-“

“Peter-“

“-I know that it sounds bad but it’s really not. It’s only because it’s the anniversary today, and even May still picks up the graveyard shift at the hospital every year so she doesn’t have to sit through the night alone, and I know it’ll never be completely better but May’s doing okay now so I know I will be eventually too, but-“

“Peter, _please_ -“

“-it’s just scary right now. I-I don’t belong anywhere,” Peter finished, sucking in a deep breath to replenish his oxygen stock. 

A minute or two passed. “What do you mean, you don’t belong anywhere?” Mr. Stark asked cautiously, turning Peter’s cheek to look at him. His eyebrows were drawn together and his facial features crinkled in deep concern as he saw the sadness and longing in his kid’s expression.

“I was gone for five _years,_ Mr. Stark, and when I came back...I don’t know. Home is different. My room is exactly the same, but nothing else is. There are more pictures of May and me around the apartment, but it's like they’re in memory of me even though I’ve been back for six months. May’s made her peace with Ben while I was...gone, so she doesn’t talk about him as much as she used to. It’s like he’s an afterthought. For her it’s been seven years—almost a whole _decade_ —but for me it’s only been two and I still see him every time I close my eyes,” Peter admitted. 

Tony paused for a moment, trying to find the right words to say. His tongue wasn’t moving, though, so before he got to say a single word Peter was talking again. 

“And school is different, too; over half of my class is either in college or have graduated from it and the other half of us are having to retake our entire junior years even though, for us, we just took our midterms the day before. I mean, I still have Ned and MJ and even Flash to make things feel the slightest bit normal, but we’re not the same anymore so the whole system is thrown off,” Peter explained, waving with his hands as a tear rolled down his cheek. “I mean, my decathlon team went to Nationals and _won,_ and we were so excited to do it again the next year with our team, but the only ones _left_ on our team are Flash, Ned, MJ, and me. Everyone else is gone _._

“And-and _you,_ Mr. Stark,” Peter choked out, taking the man by surprise. “Last I knew, we weren’t ‘ _there yet_ ’, but then I reappear and go to this enormous battle and I see you for the first time and then you’re hugging me and-and I think you even kissed me? And now it’s just, like, a common thing, and I didn’t understand why at first but then I figured out that you have a daughter—a _family—_ and then I felt even more out of place than before. Not that I didn’t appreciate the sudden ‘Dad mode’ switch, but it’s just so different, you know? Every day I wake up and I feel more and more like don’t belong—like I was never meant to come back to this world—and it’s _scary_.”

And Tony believed him because he himself was terrified, and if _he_ was terrified he didn’t even want to imagine how much more terrifying it was for Peter to be dropped in an unfamiliar world and be forced to live like it was normal when it wasn’t anywhere close to it.

In what world was it normal for a sixteen-year-old boy to come back to the world and people he’d loved so desperately only to find that they had made their way through life without him for the past five years? Had mourned yet moved forward? In what world was it _normal_ for a sixteen-year-old boy to feel so out of place and so distant from everyone he loves that he’d rather have not come back at all?

“Kid…” Tony said sorrowfully, and Peter curled an arm around his knees. He rested his chin on his legs and Tony could only watch as tears stained his suit. “Have you talked to anyone about this?”

Peter quickly shook his head. “I didn’t want to upset Aunt May or my friends—they’re adjusting, too.”

Tony sighed and scooched closer, moving Peter’s head to rest on his shoulder. Peter obliged, leaning his head against his arm. “Peter...how long have you been feeling like this?”

He shrugged, playing with the ring on his finger; Tony would ask whose it was, but he had a feeling he already knew. “I dunno. A few months. Maybe less, maybe more.”

“Why didn’t you say anything to me before?” Tony asked, a little hurt by the fact that Peter didn’t trust him enough to tell him what he was feeling. 

Silence filled the space for a few moments. Peter’s stare was blank as he toed a pebble. “I just...you have a family now, Mr. Stark. I-I didn’t want to get in the way of that.”

 _Get in the_ way _of that? Surely the kid doesn’t think-_

“Did you think I didn’t want you anymore?” he asked, strained. When silence once again took over, he had his answer. He turned and took as much of Peter into his arms as he could, and Peter shifted his hand to grip onto his sweater. His temple rested over Tony’s chest now, his eyes closed and his head gently moving with each breath Tony took. “Peter,” Tony whispered fiercely, “in what world would I _not_ want you?”

His heart broke as he heard Peter start to cry again, but he knew the kid needed to hear it. Tony needed him to know that even though Peter felt like he didn’t mean anything to the world, to Tony he _was_ his world. 

“You’re my kid _,_ Peter.You _are_ my family,” Tony emphasized, tears in his throat. “The only reason I agreed to mess with time was because of _you,_ Peter—because even though I had Morgan and I had Pepper I was still missing my kid, and I don’t know if you know this but kids can’t just be _replaced.”_ He laughed somberly. “The night Morgan was born...when I held her for the first time I realized that it wasn’t the first time I felt that kind of protective, unconditional love—I’d felt it with you _,_ Pete. I spent the night crying because Morgan was never going to get to meet her big brother and I was never going to get to tell my son I loved him, and I’m so, _so_ sorry I never told you sooner, but I love you, Peter.”

Surprising Tony, Peter jerked out of his arms and stared at him for a few moments with wide eyes. Then he broke the eye contact and frantically started pulling at...his hand?

It clicked. 

Tony quickly got up and began to walk in the opposite direction, but when he heard Peter’s breath hitch and felt his big brown eyes desperately staring at him, he said, “I’m not leaving, Underoos. I promise.” Tony didn’t continue his movements until Peter looked assured that he was telling the truth.

As Tony traveled to the other end of the roof, Peter continued to pull at his web-covered hand. He just wanted to properly hug Mr. Stark—he _needed_ to hug him. Every atom in his body was craving it so desperately that his arms had begun to tremble. Or was that the shivering?

“Well,” Mr. Stark said as he made his way back to Peter, “one of them is completely busted but this one’s only cracked. I can work with it. It doesn’t hurt your skin if it touches it, does it?”

“Mr. Stark, it’s literally _made_ to touch skin,” Peter nearly whined. “Why would I design it to have corrosive elements?”

He didn’t answer with snark as Peter had been expecting him to, but he did go on to slowly pour what was left of the dissolvent onto his hand. Both watched as the web slowly ( _very_ slowly) melted away. As soon as Peter could lift his hand he practically flung himself at his mentor, wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his head in his shoulder. They stumbled back but managed to stay upright, probably due to Peter’s spidery, innate sense of balance. 

“You love me?” he repeated almost doubtfully, bringing the conversation back to where it left off. 

Mr. Stark’s arms snuck around him, and Peter guessed it only took so long because he was surprised by how quick Peter had just moved. They tightened, and one hand held the back of his neck as he spoke, “Of course, I do. You’re everything to me, Pete.”

Peter let out a choked laugh. “I love you, too.”

They sat there for a while. His mentor didn’t seem too keen on moving, so Peter assumed he was waiting on him to make all the calls. Eventually he knew they’d have to move, but he didn’t really want to. Not yet, at least. 

“Pete...look, I know that if you’d love it if we could stay in this position forever—and, trust me, I would too—but unfortunately my knees can’t do that, kiddo. Plus, the sun’s gonna be coming up soon and I don’t think either of us really wants to be out in broad daylight like this.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, though his heart wasn’t in it. He didn’t make a move to follow through, making Tony chuckle. 

“Tell you what,” Tony said, running a hand through Peter’s hair and cradling his head to his chest. “It’s Friday, so if you’re cool with it I think I’m going to steal you away for the weekend. Take you to the lake house, allow you to have some peace and quiet to mourn and feel whatever you want to feel but make sure someone’s there if you need them—specifically me, but Pepper and Morgan are always there too if you need to talk.”

Peter swallowed. He wanted _so bad_ to accept Mr. Stark’s invitation, but it felt like pity. And as much as he wanted to mourn and feel whatever he wanted to feel without May around to remind him that her mourning days were long gone, he didn’t want to be pitied. 

He slowly pulled away from Tony’s chest and immediately felt the cold sink back in. “Thank you so much, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, looking down. “But...but I think I’m going to have to pass.”

“And why’s that?” the man asked, and Peter could tell by his tone that he wasn’t buying a word of what Peter was saying. 

“Because...well, because…” Peter trailed off, sighing and hugging himself for comfort. “Because I don’t want to intrude.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be intruding if I invited you, now would you?” he replied, and Peter honestly had no words he could say to that. Tony sighed and cupped Peter’s cheeks before tipping his face back to look at him. “Peter, if you really don’t want to come, you don’t have to. I’m not going to force you to do anything. But, if you do, please don’t let the voice in your head tell you no. Understand?”

Peter nodded after a moment. “Okay.”

There was a pause. “Okay? Like, okay as in ‘ _Yes, I’ll come_ ’ or okay as in ‘ _I understand_ ’?”

Peter took a deep breath. “I-I want to come. But...but only if you’re sure. And only if I won’t be bothering your family.”

“Peter,” Tony said, looking at him sternly. “You _are_ my family, remember? You know Morgan’s been asking about you? She wants to know when big brother Petey is coming back to play.”

He couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. “She has?”

“Oh, yes,” Tony said, rolling his eyes and letting go of Peter’s face. “In fact, she’s been asking about you so much that it makes me feel like chopped liver.”

Peter laughed, and he almost couldn’t believe that the joyful sound came from his own mouth. “I want to come, Mr. Stark,” he said again, this time surer than before. 

“Great,” Tony said, smiling as he straightened up then wincing at the answering _pops_ that ensued. Peter was getting ready to ask if he was okay when the man sent a quick text on his phone and looked back up at Peter. “When we get home, you and I are going to make some hot chocolate, go to the lab, and talk some more about this, okay? And once you feel like you’re too emotionally or physically exhausted to continue, we’ll go to bed and pick it back up whenever you say the word.”

Peter’s smile faded just slightly at the thought of having to talk about what was going on inside his head, but he knew he’d feel so much better afterward knowing he didn’t have to carry it all on his own shoulders anymore. So he simply nodded, fumbling for his mask and slipping it back on. 

“Yeah. That...that sounds good, Mr. Stark.”

Tony slung an arm around his shoulder and said, “Happy’s waiting right below us. You have clothes at home, bud, and if there’s anything you don’t have I guarantee we do. I texted May, so you don’t need to worry about her worrying.”

Peter breathed a deep sigh of relief; he wanted nothing more than to relax and not worry, and not having to arrange a ride to the lake house or pack a bag first before he went or have to explain to May why exactly he was leaving on such a whim was exactly what he needed. Plus, the promise of hot chocolate, alone time with the man who was practically his father, and a long, overdue conversation never hurt. 

Once they’d both made their way to the ground (Peter webbing and Tony briefly flying in his suit), Tony made sure to stay close, protectively putting a hand on his shoulder to steer him to the black Audi waiting across the street. They were almost to the car when Peter abruptly stopped, causing Tony to confusedly stumble to a halt. 

“Peter-“

“Can I ask you a question, Tony?” Peter asked quietly, looking up as if in a daze. 

“Of course, kiddo,” he said, frowning and stepping closer. 

“Do you think that the stars ever get tired of having their light snuffed out?”

Tony blinked; he hadn’t been sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this _._ He took a moment to compose himself and think, not wanting to screw up his answer, and he had one sooner than he thought he would. 

“I think,” he said quietly, looking up at the sky where Peter’s gaze was, “that they probably do. And I also think that they have every reason to get tired of constantly fighting for their light to be seen. But just because we can’t always see them, it doesn’t mean they’re not always there; even if the stars believe that there’s no light left in them, they shine because it still has billions of years worth of light left regardless of what the star itself sees. I guarantee you, Pete, that there’s always at least one person who sees that light every day and fully appreciates its beauty.” He paused and turned his gaze back to Peter, who was now staring at him with newfound hope in his eyes. Tony gently brushed his thumb across Peter’s cheek and, with a small smile, said, “I know I do.”

Eventually, stars did burn out. Some explode and scatter pieces of themselves throughout the universe, but some create something new—something possibly even brighter and more beautiful than before. Either way, stars lived on forever. As long as they kept living they would continue to be a light in the darkness.

With how bright Peter shone, Tony had no idea how people didn’t stop in their tracks as he passed by simply because he was too bright and beautiful to go unnoticed and un-admired. But he was glad he himself stopped and admired the light because he was convinced it was what saved him. Peter was a light in the darkness—a light in _his_ darkness—and he would be damned if he ever let that light go out. 

Some stars lived on forever. 

Peter would, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, PLEASE let me know if I need to tag something that I have not tagged! I don’t want to be the cause of someone’s hurt.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, loves! If you’d like to leave some Kudos or a nice little comment I’d appreciate it more than you know! I’ve been known to use them as motivation:) 
> 
> I love you all so much! Have a great day!<3000


End file.
